A Bravo Homecoming by Christine Rimmer Page B

the engine running.
    She frowned at him. “Why are we stopping?”
    He reached across and captured her left hand. “Whatever you decide, I think you need to start getting used to this.” And before she could ask him what he was talking about, he slid a gorgeous square diamond onto her ring finger. She blinked down at it, all bright and sparkly in the lights from the dashboard. “A perfect fit,” he said, and his white teeth flashed with his smile.
     
     
    The party was in River Oaks, one of Houston’s most exclusive neighborhoods. And the CFO’s house was like some English castle, all of stone, with tall, many-paned, brightly lit windows. A wide, curving drive led up to the entrance and every light and chandelier in the place was ablaze in the darkness.
    An attendant opened her door for her. And Travis came around and took her hand, tucking it comfortably into the crook of his arm, just like in the art gallery at Colombe d’Or. She looked down at her smooth, beautifully manicured fingers wrapped around his strong forearm, resting on the fine wool of his jacket. The big square diamond twinkled at her and she had a sense of such complete unreality.
    Like Cinderella in the fairy tale, entering the ballroom already on the arm of her prince, wearing the magic dress created with a wave of her fairy godmother’s wand and a healthy dose of bibbity-bobbity-boo. A modern Cinderella, though, one whose fairy godmother wasn’t a plump, sweet gray-haired lady, but a skinny guy with big hair and a whole bunch of attitude.
    It was a beautiful evening. She met the CFO and his wife and a lot of other people who worked for Travis’s company. A few of them even knew who she was, being something of a legend, a tool pusher who was not only young for the job, but a woman, as well.
    They all accepted her, treated her as one of them. Evidently, if you knew how to handle yourself and could carry on a decent casual conversation—if you looked the part of a woman that Travis Bravo might marry—well, no one asked questions. Why should they? Appearances, in the end, counted for a whole frickin’ lot.
    She smiled to herself as she thought the forbidden word.
    Travis leaned close to her. “What are you smiling about?”
    She turned and looked right at him. “I was just thinking that I’m having a terrific time.”
    Midnight came. She and Travis were in the walnut-paneled library, sipping champagne. The ornate clock on the mantel chimed the hour. Sam smiled again as the chimes rang out. Nothing happened. She didn’t look down to see her little black dress turning into a pair of greasy coveralls. Her black lace shoes did not suddenly become muddy steel-toed boots. She wasn’t Cinderella after all.
    Uh-uh. Her transformation was going to be a permanent one.
     
     
    It was two-thirty a.m. when they got back to the Four Seasons. Travis had his suitcases already packed and in the Cadillac. In the morning, they would be driving up to San Antonio straight from the hotel.
    He grabbed his overnight bag from the trunk and passed the keys to the valet. They went up to the suite.
    Travis had his card key out when they got to the door. He stuck it in the slot and pushed the door open.
    Sam went in ahead of him. She eased the shrug from her shoulders, dropping it and her bag to a chair.
    With Jonathan gone, the suite seemed strangely empty. She wandered through the sitting room and into the bedroom where he had stayed.
    Travis followed her. He tossed his bag onto a chair. “Strange, huh? The covers on the bed turned back, chocolates on the pillow and not a sign that Jonathan was ever here.”
    She sat on the edge of the bed and braced her hands on the bedspread to either side of her. “I was just thinking the same thing.” But then, wasn’t that how it went with a fairy godmother? They were gone in a sparkle of fairy dust as soon as their work was done.
    And speaking of sparkles…
    She glanced down at her left hand. The engagement diamond